


The Fear of Living

by Phrensiedom



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Mentioned Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Mentioned Upgraded Connor | RK900, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:27:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27805330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phrensiedom/pseuds/Phrensiedom
Summary: Simon and Markus meet for the first time just as Simon is about to end his own life.
Relationships: Josh & North & Simon (Detroit: Become Human), Markus/Simon (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 29





	1. The Fear of Living

**Author's Note:**

> Important trigger warning! This piece depicts suicidal thoughts, suicide preparatory behaviors, and an interrupted suicide attempt in intimate detail. Please _carefully_ consider whether this is something you can handle reading before beginning this story. If you find you feel unsafe with yourself, as a result of this story or otherwise, please contact local mental health crisis assessment or local emergency services.

Simon drew a deep breath down into his stomach, held it for a beat, and let it slowly out before his eyes flicked open. He lifted his hands from his lap and held them out before himself, observing as they still shook wildly despite his best efforts to still them. He released a sharp, agonized breath and lowered them to his lap again, refocusing his gaze on the valley spread out below him. 

It was mid-spring, and the valley was alive. Purples, pinks, reds, oranges, and yellows of varying shades dotted the side of the tall hill on which he sat, winking in and out of his sight as a pleasant breeze disturbed the tall, near-emerald green grass amongst which the wildflowers grew. The grass grew right up to the stream that wound through the vale, where the land dropped sharply away to the clear, slow-moving water below. The hill was nearly mirrored on the other side of the stream, though the edge of the trees began a touch closer to the water.

Simon had hiked down through the trees on his side, following his own path, carefully picking his way through the brush, as no trail existed. It was a long trek, but he knew his way by heart. He sat halfway from the top of the hill, on a patch of short grass and a pale brown, tan, and white plaid wool blanket, his largely emptied backpack at his side. This was a tranquil place that never failed to soothe his dangerously anxious soul. A ghost of a smile twitched at the corners of his thin lips as the irony of it all struck him. He had chosen the one place in the entire world that eased the anxiety that tormented him day and night, never allowing him a moment of peace, as the place he would finally, finally die. 

He had prepared everything down to the finest detail. His family believed he was in class, his professors and friends believed he was home sick. He had written and rewritten and rewritten his suicide note, which was in his backpack and sealed in a plastic bag in case of rain. He had written a second note specifically for North, sealed in the same bag, begging her not to feel guilty for acquiring the pistol for him for ‘self-protection’. He would have found another way, he explained in the letter, but this was the least painful and most lethal method. Giving him the gun was a kindness, not complicity. He would be eternally grateful to her. 

Lifting his hands again, he found they were stable enough and picked up the pistol he had placed at his side. He studied its boxy shape and dull grey metal for a moment before he gave his head an aggressive shake. He had to focus and get it over with before he lost his nerve again. Turning the weapon over, he flipped the safety off and cocked the hammer. He studied it for a moment, running through the firearm safety videos he had viewed online in preparation, as he knew he wouldn’t have enough courage if the first squeeze of the trigger failed. Again, the irony made his lips twitch.

Simon spun the weapon to face himself, the sight of the barrel with its tiny yet lethal void not causing him distress, which he could only attribute to his repeatedly rehearsing with the pistol unloaded over the past few weeks. Holding it with both hands, he parted his lips and inserted the barrel into his mouth. He closed his eyes, acutely aware of the cool metal resting on his tongue and lower teeth, and raised his thumb to the trigger. 

"Wait," said a soft voice behind him and to his right. “Please stop and talk to me."

Simon jumped, adrenaline suddenly surging through his veins, and momentarily fumbled the handgun before placing it in his lap and snapping the safety back off. He lowered his head, struggling to manage the shaky, unsteady sensation prompted by the abrupt activation of his sympathetic nervous system. He clasped his hands together to stop them shaking and raised his head again. 

Sitting on the blanket before him was easily the most handsome man Simon had ever seen. He had warm tawny skin that looked terribly soft, dark brown freckles dusted across his nose and out to his shapely cheekbones, and striking heterochromic eyes, one green and one blue. He was everything Simon was not—sickly white skin, glazed and bloodshot blue eyes, and dull, lifeless blonde hair—and the thought made his chest ache. The other gave him a small wave, and a harsh blush instantly rose to Simon's cheeks. 

He averted his gaze by dropping it to his lap and the gun that lay there. He had been so close. Just a second more, two at most, and he would have been free. Instead, he was being pitied by a guy who surely wouldn't have given him the time of day in any other situation. 

"My name is Markus. What's yours?"

God, even his voice was handsome. Gentle and silky, with its own particular self-confident cadence. 

Without looking up, the anxious blonde, answered, "Simon."

“Oh, I like that name. It suits you." He said nothing, and Markus continued, "Why are you here, Simon?"

He raised his gaze to stare at him, saying, "I thought that was obvious." 

Markus appeared unfazed. "No, no, I mean why are you here, specifically? Does this spot hold meaning for you?"

Normally, this was the kind of deeply personal information Simon never shared with anyone, not even his therapist. But if he was going to die shortly, what did it matter? He studied the other's expression for a moment, searching for any hints of insincerity, and finding none, said, "Dad brought us here every spring. We were sitting right here when I told him I was gay." A faint smile touched Simon's lips. "He hugged me and told me he was proud of me for having the courage to tell him." 

“That’s a beautiful story,” Markus said. "When I came out to my parents, my dad was supportive right away. Took Mom longer to come around." He laughed and said, "Granted, I was five at the time." 

Another smile twitched on Simon's lips, and he briefly glanced at his handsome companion, finding he was still watching him. Dropping his gaze again, he said, "I was eleven. My brother was upset because he wanted me to wait until he was ready, too, so we could come out together."

"Oh, you have a brother?"

Simon nodded. "Identical twin."

"My brothers are twins! Fraternal, but they look so much alike. Everyone says the only way to tell them apart is their eye color."

Simon chuckled and said, "It's the eyebrows with us."

Markus shifted, drawing Simon's attention, and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He fiddled with it for a moment and then showed him the screen, on which a picture of Markus' brothers was displayed. They really were nearly identical, with slender builds, fair skin, freckles, and deep ash brown hair cut short and swept to one side of the forehead. They sat together in a porch swing, eyes closed, shoulders pressed to one another, heads resting together. He swiped to the next photo, in which the brothers remained in the same positions, but their eyes were open. One had warm brown eyes, and the other's were an icy blue. The former had a questioning expression on his face, while the latter was scowling at the camera. 

Markus pointed to the brown-eyed twin and said, "This is Connor, and--" he pointed to the blue-eyed twin, "--this is Niles." 

"That's incredible," Simon said, his voice low. "They look exactly the same except for their eyes."

Markus grinned and nodded, retracting his hand and cell phone, glancing briefly at the screen before sliding it back into his pocket. "Their doctors were always baffled as to how it happened."

Simon fidgeted with his fingers for a moment, considering if he should show him a picture of Daniel. While he liked this Markus well enough, he didn't want to play into his game to prevent Simon from following through with his well-laid plan. He was miserable, and he couldn't let a pretty face distract him from what needed to be done. He lowered his head once again, hoping that by ignoring the intruder, he would get bored or annoyed and leave.

A few minutes of silence, save for the rustle of long grasses and leaves and the occasional twitter of a bird, passed during which Markus neither said nor did anything, simply watching him, his hands clasped in his lap. Finally, he spoke. “Are you and your brother close?”

Simon traced the tips of his fingers along the various lines on the blanket on which they both sat, his eyes focused on his movements. He didn’t wish to feed Markus exactly what he wanted, but the discomfort of silence was unbearable. He said, “Yes. We’ve been inseparable since we were little. We tell each other everything.”

“Does he know you’re here?” Simon nodded, and Markus rephrased. “Does he know what you’re doing here?”

“No, of course not.” Simon felt his throat clench tight at the thought of how Daniel would react to his suicide. It very well could trigger another psychotic episode. As much as he didn’t want to subject his brother to such fear and pain, he couldn’t withstand his own fear and pain any longer. 

“What would he say?”

“He’d call me a hypocrite.”

“A hypocrite? What about?”

Simon finally lifted his head to look Markus in the eye. He didn’t know how to answer this question. He had brought the subject up, but it wasn’t his story to tell. He said, “I convinced him to go to the hospital when he needed it a year ago. Now I’m refusing to do the same for myself.” 

Markus nodded and his eyes narrowed in thought. “What’s stopping you from going to the hospital?”

Simon considered for a moment. He hadn’t yet thought about that, but the answer appeared to him readily. Picking up the handgun, he pushed himself to his feet and began making his way through the knee-high grass and wildflowers down toward the stream. Markus followed his lead, walking beside him. Under typical conditions, Simon would have been flooded with anxiety about picking up a tick in the grass that would pass Lyme’s Disease to him or being stung by a bee hidden in one of the wildflowers as it wiggled in the pollen, but he felt very little fear in that moment. 

Stepping up on a large, flat rock partially buried in the ground, he said, “Fear.” He turned to look at Markus as he joined him. “Daniel described what it was like, and while it doesn’t sound as bad as movies make it out to be, even the most innocuous things make me anxious.” 

Markus met his gaze and studied it closely for a moment. “Like what?”

“I would have a roommate. The first thoughts that pop into my mind are worries. What if they don’t like me? What if they’re mean? What if they try to hurt me in my sleep? What if they attack me? And that’s just one small part of being hospitalized. I have at least that many fears for every little thing Daniel told me about the experience.” Simon squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head. “No, I couldn’t do it.”

Markus gradually released a deep breath and said, “I can’t say I blame you.”

Simon opened his eyes again to watch the relaxed flow of the stream a couple of yards away. The water was perfectly clear, allowing one to see the sand and rocks, worn smooth by the passage of time, that lined the bed of the stream. The sight was wonderfully soothing.

“That’s how I think about everything. Each minute detail of my life is analyzed and overanalyzed and analyzed more. I can’t think straight, I can’t make decisions, I can’t relax, I haven’t slept more than three hours in a night for the past month. My mind is constantly racing with anxious thoughts. I have no peace.” Simon’s voice was flat and calm as he said this, an awkward combination to his ear. 

“That sounds overwhelming.”

Simon remained silent for a few moments, transfixed by the stream, and finally said, “It is. I can’t take it anymore.” 

He stepped down from the rock and approached the body of water, lowering himself to sit on the bank, his legs dangling over the edge of the sharp drop-off, his feet just barely high enough to avoid his sneakers getting wet. He placed the gun next to him in the grass but rested his hand on it, too anxious about losing it to not maintain contact with it.

Markus again followed his lead, sitting close and saying, “Do you have a therapist or a psychiatrist?”

“No, but I did in the past, and they weren’t helpful.” 

“What has been helpful?”

A smile twitched at one corner of Simon’s lips for the briefest moment, and he said, “Being in nature like this often helps, but I never have time to get out. I work fulltime, I’m in school fulltime, and I have obligations to family and friends.”

“That is a lot,” Markus said.

Simon released a single laugh. “I should be in class right now.” 

Markus laughed as well. It was restrained and low, just like his speaking voice. “Actually, I should be, too.”

Simon turned to meet Markus’ gaze, warmth rushing into his chest and face as he realized just how close they sat to one another. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, and said, “What are you doing out here?”

Markus’ shoulders popped up in a slight shrug. “I just decided I needed a mental health day.”

“You? Really?” Simon couldn’t imagine this composed, intelligent, compassionate man struggling with his mental health.

He nodded, a faint smile on his lips, his eyebrows raised. 

“That’s difficult to imagine.” 

They both fell silent for a few minutes. Simon let his eyes drift closed and listened to the soothing gurgle of the stream, running his fingertips along the edges and corners of the gun at his side, its presence equally as soothing. He was so entranced by the auditory and tactile sensations that he jolted when Markus spoke again.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself, Simon.”

This was not what the suicidal young man wanted or needed to hear. He grimaced and shoved himself to his feet, turning and heading back to the blanket and his other belongings. Yet again, Markus followed him, and Simon snapped, “It doesn’t matter what you want.”

Markus said nothing, evidently recognizing his misstep. Simon sat back down on the blanket in the same spot, lowering his gaze to his lap and the gun he placed here, his stomach churning and his chest tight. He had been calm, truly at ease for the first time in so long, but nothing so pleasant lasted for him. He felt the blanket beneath him tug slightly and go taut as Markus sat on the other side. Once again, the two held their silence. The quiet afforded Simon time to think deeply, his eyes glued to the lethal weapon resting in his lap, reigniting the fears he had managed to briefly assuage by observing the beauty of his surroundings. 

Aside from the constant baseline feeling of apprehension that plagued him during both his waking and sleeping hours, he again began to think about his father’s health, his brother’s mental health, rent, bills, school, his job, his future career goals, a future husband, future children, the state of the world, global warming, the tanking economy, the lack of empathy between people, the anger and hatred that exists in the world, and of course, himself, his place in all of this pain, how he contributed to it or alleviated it, whether he was a good or bad person, whether he deserved to live. All of these anxieties stirred up again, and one by one began to flutter through his mind, until his thoughts were racing so fast, he couldn't even fully identify them beyond the fact they were terrifying and paralyzing. 

He could feel his heartbeat accelerating, his chest tightening to the point of pain and forcing his breaths to come faster and shorter, his body growing clammy, and his head growing light. Simon frowned deeply, less than pleased that he was about to have a panic attack in front of a stranger in the final hours of his life. Others might not have cared, but he did. This was supposed to be a nice, secluded spot where he could die in peace, and this busybody had to fuck it all up. 

Within a matter of seconds, Simon was hyperventilating, visibly sweating, and shaking uncontrollably. He covered his face with his hands, struggling and failing to not think about how the other's soft features must be scrunched with revulsion at his utter lack of dignity. Beyond the sound of his own panicked breaths reverberating in his ears, he caught the rustle of the blanket beneath them. How desperately he hoped it was Markus finally leaving him, yet he had no such luck. 

He next heard the other man’s voice, gentle, pitched down, and much closer to him, say, “I’m here with you, Simon.” 

Between gasping breaths, Simon managed to snap, “I wish—” He paused for another few rapid, uncontrollable gulps of air, “—you weren’t.” 

“I know, but I’m not leaving you.”

Simon felt the weight of a hand laid on his shoulder, and while both of these things typically would have been comforting during a panic attack, they were unwanted and unwelcome in that moment. He slapped Markus’ hand away and grabbed the handgun from his lap, flipping the safety off and pressing the muzzle to the side of his head. The feeling of claustrophobia, of being trapped within his own life, of being squeezed hard around his torso, throat, and head, like a boa constrictor coiled about him and crushing any semblance of hope from him was overwhelming. He couldn't imagine a future with himself in it—not with the amount of terror he experienced nearly constantly. 

Simon clutched the grip of the gun to the point his knuckles turned white, willing himself to just squeeze the goddamn trigger, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't. Not with Markus sitting right there. As much pain as he was in, he couldn't bear the thought of subjecting anyone to the trauma of sitting two feet away while a stranger shot themself in the head. 

His breath still coming in short gasps, hands still shaking, Simon lowered the pistol once again and placed it gingerly on the blanket before clicking the safety back on. His shoulders slumped, his chin dropped to his chest, and for the first time in months, tears collected in his eyes and fell to the blanket and his jeans. He wrapped his arms about his stomach, holding himself, struggling alone in his pain despite the young man sitting next to him who clearly cared and would help him bear the weight. 

“Please let me help you,” Markus said, his voice nearly a whisper. 

The thought was terrifying for Simon, who never made himself vulnerable, his guard eternally up to brace against an attack that could come at any moment, though it never did. Even with Daniel, his twin, with whom he shared identical DNA, two halves of the same whole, the person he trusted most in the world, he struggled to be completely vulnerable and open. There was no way he could manage it with a stranger, at least not to that intensity. 

“Can you please hold me?” Simon managed to say, despite the shaking in his body.

“Of course,” Markus said, scooting closer and wrapping his arms about Simon’s shoulders. 

Simon rested his temple on the other’s shoulder, and while it wasn’t perfect, it helped. The pressure against his back and chest was reassuring and containing, holding the fragmented pieces of him together so he didn’t fall apart. They remained in this position for a few long minutes as his sympathetic nervous system settled and his parasympathetic took over, his breathing and heart rates slowing, his body temperature reregulating, and the dizziness and shaking easing. Even once the panic symptoms had passed, leaving only a faint tremble, neither moved. It simply felt right. 

“Simon, can I take you to a hospital?”

Simon sat up, a few more tears rising in his eyes and slipping down his cheeks. Markus gave him a somber smile and swept away the tears from either side of his face with his thumbs. Simon studied his lovely mismatching eyes for a moment, struggling against his desire to run or grab for the gun again, to escape from it all. A steadily growing part of him wanted to live purely for Markus, to talk to him, to become familiar with him, to become friends with him, perhaps even to love him, and he clung to that feeling. Of wanting to live despite his pain. 

Simon drew a deep breath down into his stomach, held it for a beat, and let it slowly out before he extended his hand to his future.


	2. Epilogue

Sitting in the passenger seat of Daniel’s car, Simon fidgeted with his cell phone. After two weeks of lying untouched in a locker, awaiting his discharge, it was completely dead, but he needed something to focus on in lieu of talking with his twin about what had happened. Daniel hadn’t asked, but he didn’t need to. Simon knew being left in the dark like this was agony for him, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t form a coherent timeline of events. His memories of that day ran together, as if someone had dragged a hand through them while they were solidifying, paint smeared while still drying. 

He could recall a vague outline of events, which he had shared with Daniel on the phone shortly after he was admitted, but the details eluded him. Most of the details eluded him, but the gentle yet solid feeling of Markus’ arms about him; the steady, even quality of his voice; and the grace and patience with which he had tolerated Simon’s behavior were all clear, solidified and dried without defacement. These he had not shared with Daniel. Not yet. For now, they were his alone to process. 

Daniel cleared his throat. “I did what you asked. Dad wants to talk to you—”

“God, he’s going to be so pissed,” Simon blurted out, cutting him off. 

“No, Si. He’s just glad you’re alive.” Simon nodded, but he didn’t believe it, and Daniel knew it. “Was he mad when I was in the hospital?”

“Of course not, but that wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t control it. I could have.”

Daniel glowered at the road ahead but clearly recognized how pointless it would be to argue, as he had been on the opposite side of the same argument numerous times. He continued, “Your professors just asked that you contact them as soon as possible. Same with your boss. North said she’s going to kick your ass for scaring her, and Josh said he’d hold you in place for her.”

Simon found he was holding his breath in anticipation of the final request he’d made of his brother, but when he offered nothing else, Simon forced a laugh at their friends’ playful threats of assault. The profound shame he felt about his actions, lying leaden in his limbs, left no room for humor. Daniel glanced over at him, a mild scowl on his face—which, given that tended to be his resting expression, provided Simon little insight to his thoughts—but said nothing. 

Sensing the conversation had concluded, Simon turned his attention out the window, forcing himself to take notice of what they passed to distract from the hollow sensation in his gut. They were closer to their apartment than he had realized, passing through the surrounding neighborhood. Homes, some with people on the front lawn tending to flower beds mowing grass and a few with little kids chasing one another; an old church that was still in use but falling apart and gave Simon the shivers whenever he passed by; and a locally owned shop that sold original designs of largely dresses and other traditionally feminine clothing. He noted them with a numb lack of interest, finding details in the environment simply to occupy his mind and prevent rumination on his overwhelming worries. 

As Daniel pulled the car into a parking space, Simon barely waited until they had come to a full stop to grab the plastic bag sitting at his feet, which read Patient Belongings on both sides with a blank line for a name to be written in, and climb out. 

“Si, wai—” Was all Daniel managed to say before the passenger side door was slammed shut, effectively cutting him off. 

Simon did not intend to be rude or ungrateful, but his mind was elsewhere. He headed for their building, acutely aware of how it would reflect on him to be returning home after two weeks of absence carrying his belongings bag, were any of their neighbors to notice. Daniel caught up with him quickly and fell in-step beside him, his avoidance of teasing Simon for what had just happened a strong indicator that he was working hard to control his own behavior. Under typical circumstances, he would have run with the opportunity to rub Simon’s impulsive rudeness in a little, as he was typically far less prone to behavioral impulsivity than Daniel. 

They ascended the three flights of stairs together, and Daniel unlocked and opened the door for them as Simon had not had adequate foresight to avoid burying his keys somewhere in his bag. Stepping into the small two-bedroom apartment, he found three familiar faces seated on the tattered couch and the carpeted floor of the living room, waiting for him. North and Josh immediately leapt to their feet and hurried over to him. 

North pulled him into a crushing and nearly painful hug, grumbling, “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, Simon. Don’t you ever scare us like that again.”

While he understood she was trying to simultaneously communicate her fear and sadness over the near loss of him and her anger over how his actions had impacted his loved ones, all he felt was twisting of the knife. Again, the shame he bore would not allow him to take in other people’s use of humor as a coping mechanism and a less painful method of expressing their difficult feelings. He didn’t blame her. There was no way she could know. 

Releasing him, North took his shoulders and said, “I’m glad you’re safe.” She placed her hands on either side of his head and pulled him down to her height so she could place a kiss on his forehead. 

Simon gave her a forced, trembling smile and a nod, and she stepped out of the way to allow Josh to draw him into another hug. Holding him tight, but not enough to hurt, Josh said, “I’m so sorry I didn’t see how much pain you were in. I just—I can’t forgive myself, but I’m so, so sorry.”

This was not helpful either, despite Josh’s best intentions. It redirected the focus from Simon to himself and forced Simon to either hold the weight of Josh’s own guilt and shame or appear callous and uncaring, when in reality, he barely had enough strength to carry his own painful feelings. Josh pulled away from the hug, and the deeply somber expression on his face wrenched Simon’s heart. 

“It’s okay,” he said, again forcing a smile.

“But it’s not o—” Josh began but was cut off by Daniel snapping his name and shaking his head. Josh seemed to finally recognize this kind of attention was unwanted and followed North’s lead, stepping out of the way. 

This left one person Simon had not yet greeted. He stood at a remove from the rest, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, yet still appeared so confident and at-ease in an unfamiliar environment with unfamiliar people. Simon studied him for a few moments before turning to his twin and glaring at him. 

“What? I wanted it to be a surprise! I didn’t know you’d get so upset,” Daniel said, smiling in spite of himself. 

Simon gave him one last one last hard look before turning back, his expression softening immediately. The other raised a hand to give him a small wave, identical to the one he had given the first time Simon laid eyes on him. A genuine smile flickered on Simon’s lips, and he closed the space between them, hugging him without so much as a thought. 

Markus readily reciprocated, enfolding Simon in his arms and holding him again with that perfect balance of strength and tenderness that made him feel safe and supported. He soaked in Markus’ warmth and compassion in this way for a few long minutes, well beyond what would have been considered socially appropriate for two people who had interacted for all of a couple of hours, and Markus maintained his grasp without faltering, not so much as even shifting his weight. 

When finally, Simon pulled away, Markus took his hands in his own and gave him such a sweet smile, Simon nearly grabbed him for another hug. Instead, he controlled himself and, voice so soft as to nearly be a whisper, said, “Thank you, Markus.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired almost wholly by the song "Flatline" by Periphery ([link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L7cH6o_sblg)) and informed by my personal experience of suicidality. The premise appeared in my head one day while I was listening to the song and realized it no longer wrenched at my chest or made me cry. Simon is my comfort character and the character on whom I frequently project and process through my own thoughts, feelings, and experiences, so it was a foregone conclusion he would play the central role here.


End file.
